


Sure Would Be Prettier

by Redlance



Category: Pitch Perfect (2012)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 07:50:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1420318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redlance/pseuds/Redlance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's an entire world out there for Beca to see, and she does. It's filled with beauty and music and wonder, and it's all pretty breath-taking. But there's always something missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sure Would Be Prettier

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : The world of Pitch Perfect and its characters aren't mine. GDI.
> 
> **A/N** : Soooo, generally don't ask for feedback? But it would be very much appreciated for this story. I've been working on it for a while and I'd love to know if the butt kicking it gave me paid off. ;)

_**Beca Mitchell is online** _

 

_**Chloe Beale** : You made it!_

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : Barely. The internet service in this hotel is for shit._

 

_**Chloe Beale** : GASP_

_But... don't they know who you are?_

_;)_

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : Haha._

_I guess they didn't get the memo. :P_

 

_**Chloe Beale** : What, no red carpet for LA's most famous DJ export? ;)_

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : There's red ON the carpet, does that count?_

_Ugh, I think it might actually be blood._

_If you don't hear from me for a few days, can you maybe alert the US Embassy or something?_

 

_**Chloe Beale** : If I don't hear from you for a few days I'll hop a plane and come looking for you myself. :P_

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : So chivalrous._

 

_**Chloe Beale** : I refuse to let it die._

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : You gonna start opening doors and stuff for me next time I visit then? Give me your jacket when I get cold?_

 

_**Chloe Beale** : Easy, tiger. I don't hand over my jacket to just anyone you know. :P_

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : Anyone ever tell you that you use a frightening amount of smiley face things?_

 

_**Chloe Beale** : Yes, but I quickly cut those people out. People who don't like 'smiley face things' just aren't the kind of people I want in my life._

_It's a good thing you adore each and every one of my quirks. ;)_

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : Just thinking the same thing._

 

_**Beca Mitchell is offline** _

_**Beca Mitchell is online** _

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : Shit, sorry. Got kicked off._

 

_**Chloe Beale** : You came back! :)_

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : Of course I came back._

_That's my Disney hero for the day._

 

_**Chloe Beale** : You're such a nerd._

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : You think I’m awesome._

 

_**Chloe Beale** : Aca-awesome. ;)_

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : Oh god. The flashbacks. The HORROR._

_How is Satan's favourite little hellspawn?_

 

_**Chloe Beale** : Beca. :P_

_Be nice._   
  


_**Beca Mitchell** : Sorry. You know I don't really mean it._

_Much._

_Anymore._

 

_**Chloe Beale** : Right. :P_

_Aubrey is fine. She called me last night to blow off some steam about how she's being run ragged with a case. She thinks her dad is testing her or something. She's probably right._

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : If only dads knew when to back off, the world would be such a happier place._

 

_**Chloe Beale** : Not mine._

_If your dad hadn't been such a persistent pain in your fine ass, we might never have crossed paths.:P_

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : Fine ass?_

_I KNEW you peeked when you barged into my shower._

 

_**Chloe Beale** : On my honour as a girl scout, I'll never tell. ;)_

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : Shit. Ricky just text me, they need me at the club early. I'm gonna have to go. :(_

 

_**Chloe Beale** : :(_

_It's okay. You show those Jamaicans how to party LA style. ;)_

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : Ooh gurl, you know it._

_;)_

 

_**Chloe Beale** : We'll talk again soon?_

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : The first spare second I get._

 

_**Chloe Beale** : Okay. :)_

_I miss you._

 

_… **Beca Mitchell is typing...**_

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : I miss you too._

 

* * *

 

It goes like that. Week after week, into months that drift steadily towards years, and they never lose contact but – as Chloe is often eager to point out – it isn't the same. Life never is, after high school, after college. That's when the realness of it all snatches the reigns out of your hands and you just have to hold on and hope to God the thing doesn't buck you off. But despite all of the changes, they stay in touch. Chloe remains Beca's constant when the very landscape about her is changing.

 

Beca's been lucky – Chloe laughs, calls it talent – in that she landed in LA at the exact right time, around four years after the point at which she'd expected to arrive there. And for the all the many myriad reasons she and her father don't always see eye to eye, she can't help but accept the fact that he was right about this. About college, about waiting. About Barden. Something proved many times over during her time there and her time away from a place that shaped her in ways she'd never imagined possible. Had seen her stay when only a few short months before she'd been so bound and determined to leave and had only been swayed into giving the 'college thing' a go because of the weighted jingle of coin in her dad's pocket. Now, she couldn't imagine what life would have been like without Barden. Without the Bellas.

 

She still speaks to them, though not as regularly as she'd like. Her work keeps her busy and there's only so many spare minutes during her day that she can accumulate. They're usually reserved for her Mom, occasionally her Dad. More often than not, Chloe. There's some form of correspondence every day, signal and phone battery permitting. A text message here, a phone call cut short there, but it's something, and it serves as a tether of sorts for Beca. One that grounds her whenever her life gets a little bit too manic.

 

The first time she had deejayed for a club, the space had been so small and so packed with people that she'd locked herself in the single stall bathroom for twenty minutes and spent fifteen of them just breathing into her phone as Chloe tried to talk her down from whatever metaphorical ledge she'd managed to crawl out onto. She did, and Beca climbed back into the booth and proceeded to rock the house with her badass beats, just as Chloe had told her to.

 

Chloe is Beca's constant. In all the cities and countries she visits, she's just a message away.

 

And it's not that Beca takes it for granted. She's grateful, admittedly in a really kind of weird way, that Chloe barged into her shower that evening and forever scrawled her entire being into the book that is Beca's life.

 

But sometimes the ink can get smudged and even though you know what it used to say, it's sort of changed now.

 

And you don't really know what it is anymore.

 

But Beca doesn't think about that too much.

 

Chloe is her constant, that's all that matters.

 

* * *

 

She takes a picture of a dusty path, unpaved and well-worn, that drifts lazily into a field before fading into the yellow-brown grass that has certainly seen wetter days. The Arizona sun sits high in the sky and threatens to singe all that falls beneath it, but the breeze that blows in through the open car window has been enough to stop her from melting entirely so far.

 

The tree had been in their line of sight for miles until they finally got close enough for Beca to determine that the walk to it would be easy enough in the heat of the late afternoon. She's pulled the car over and shut off the engine before Ricky so much as stirs in the passenger seat. It isn't until she shoves the door of his car closed that he lifts an eyelid. One lone, lethargic blink.

 

“I'll be right back.” She says through the open window. He rolls onto the opposite shoulder and presses his face into the threadbare side of the seat with an unintelligible grunt. With a roll of her eyes, Beca turns and sends her gaze towards the titan of a tree.

 

It might look dead to those that speed by it, but those that choose to stop, they can see. See the life still teaming within its spindly beige-brown branches. Its thick trunk towers above her, reaching a height she doesn't even want to hazard a guess at, hundreds of arms in various shapes and sizes stretching out towards all corners of the globe as if wanting nothing more than to touch the lives of everyone within reach. Larger than the life it almost bursts with.

 

She blinks dark blue eyes up towards the canopy of bare branches, clear sky visible between them, and presses a hand against rough bark.

 

It's warm and dry and Beca's sure she can almost feel a heartbeat.

 

Taking the same dusty path back, she lets the strap fall from her shoulder and takes the camera in her hands. She's carried it with her ever since she bought it and it almost feels like a piece of her now whenever she holds it. She brings it to her face and gazes at the tree for a few more seconds in the display before snapping a photograph.

 

_Shoot me down, but I won't fall..._

 

She's well aware of why.

 

* * *

 

She prints the picture at the first place she finds that offers the service. It's a small town and the store is a quaint little pharmacy that has glass jars with old fashioned candy in them on the shelf behind the checkout counter. It's an odd mix of old and new; frontier style wood panelling with the two bulky photo printers set up on the right side of the entrance. But it works. Makes her feel a weird sense of peace, as though she can trick herself into thinking the world is much smaller and yet far more advanced than it is. A strange and new utopian future.

 

It's an odd thought. She realises this but does little to change it. Her moods haven't exactly been following any kind of linear pattern lately and she's learning to just go with it.

 

There's a friendly elderly lady behind the counter, made up of wrinkles caused by too much smiling, and she waves towards the machines when Beca asks about the sign she'd seen in the window. Beca smiles her thanks and lifts the strap of her camera over her head. She pops the memory card out and slides it into the slot on the machine, then waits for her photographs to appear.

 

Chloe thinks pictures are precious things. Actual captured memories to be held and cherished and protected. Because “memories can fade but if you have a picture, then it's there forever. You'll never lose the reason you took it.”

 

She chooses 'print in seconds' and swipes her credit card through the reader. By the time she has it back in her wallet and the card back in her camera, the photo is dropping down into the tray at the bottom of the machine. She picks it up between her forefinger and thumb and stares at it for a long moment. It's not as pretty as it was in person.

 

But things rarely are.

 

She stays long enough to grab a bag of mint humbug candies and then bids the woman farewell. Wrinkles crease and crinkle as she smiles at Beca and the bell above the door jingles a farewell. When she slips back into the car, Ricky is watching her with a bemused expression. She offers him a candy and he doesn't ask for an explanation as she turns the key in the ignition and signals before pulling out onto the road.

 

It's only a block before they find a post office and he's still sucking on the sweet as she pulls over again.

 

“You got a pen?” She asks, and he frowns at her but reaches beneath the fold of his jacket to pull a ballpoint from his shirt pocket. She can't quite suppress her smile. “You're such a dweeb.” He rolls his eyes and rests his elbow against the car door, dropping his chin against his palm as he starts his people watching and she tugs the cap off with her teeth.

 

Beca's scrawl isn't messy but neither is it neat, it's fairly legible though and she's sure that's all that matters. She writes the name and address first, certain of those above anything else she might want to write. She gnaws on the cap of the pen, tapping the end of the pen itself rhythmically over the curve of the steering wheel. She's never been so good with words, written or spoken, and she wishes she could just find a handful of beats she could mix to express everything she wants to say.

 

Even some things she doesn't.

 

Eventually she settles on something simple. Something probably totally inelegant and lame, but that's fine. It's what Chloe has come to expect from her.

 

_**Chloe,** _

_**Greetings from Arizona, home of the 'Titanium Tree'.** _

 

“Tell her I say hi.” Ricky says, and she can feel him glance askance at her.

 

_**Ricky says hi.** _

 

And she pauses, looking at the decent amount of space left at the bottom of the photograph back. She takes a breath and writes without thinking.

 

**_I miss you._ **

**_Love, Beca._ **

 

* * *

 

Beca checks her cell phone in a manner that is sporadic at best. First thing in the morning before she scrambles to get ready, then often not again until she repeats the gruelling process the next day. Sometimes she'll get a second or two late in the afternoon or towards the middle of the evening, but regardless of when she checks it, there's always one thing she can count on. Chloe's always there to greet her, in one way other another.

 

**You have 1 new picture/video message.**

**Chloe**

_Too much boob?_

 

The query is the caption to a photograph taken via the redhead's phone camera. In it, Beca can see what appears to be the inside of a changing room. Chloe's form is captured in the full length mirror and Beca see clothes hanging haphazardly on the largely useless hooks on the back of the door in its reflection. The dress Chloe's wearing is really more of a slightly longer than average baby blue tube top, one that hugs her body in all the right places and, yes, there is some serious boobage happening.

 

With a groggy smile, Beca shuffles beneath the duvet until she's propping herself up on an arm and has regained the feeling in her left hand enough to key in a response.

 

_On you? Is there such a thing?_

 

The response is almost immediate and Beca's smile widens as her phone goes off.

 

_You're always such a flirt before your brain has woken up properly :P_

 

She feels... fuzzy, and wonders if she maybe had a bit too much to drink the night before. There had been an impromptu after party once the club she'd been playing at had shut down for the night and she'd imbibed one or two more pretty coloured cocktails than she usually did.

 

_Is this an official complaint? Because you'll have to file that with my ~manager~_

 

It feels a little bit like flirting. Okay, a lot. But Beca might as well be an entire world away and her dreams are still fresh enough to be clouding her mind, and really, she can't muster up enough energy to care. Not just yet.

 

_You're such a dork :P And no. Definitely not a complaint. It's nice to feel wanted, especially by a celebrity. ;)_

 

Her stomach lurches, but this time it's unpleasant and she takes a few seconds to tug the blankets up high enough to bury her face and groan into them.

 

_Oh god, it's too early to joke about that. Take your boobs and go._

 

The pause between messages is a little longer this time, long enough that Beca's thumb starts to tap a tune against the side of her phone.

 

_You totally miss them. You think about them all the time. :P_

 

She wonders if Chloe's grinning as madly as she is right now. If the redhead's smile is as infectious at as a distance as Beca had always found it in person. She wonders if she's feeling the effects of it even now.

 

_Every time I shower._

 

She doesn't ask.

 

* * *

 

“Where are you?” Chloe's voice is riddled with static and Beca jams her phone and finger against her ears to better block out the noise of the crowd behind her.

 

“Bangkok!” There's a near ear-piercing screech on the other end and for a second, Beca worries Chloe's excitement has finally short-circuited an already shaky connection.

 

“Are you shitting me?” Beca's grin widens, impossibly, and she edges past a young-looking boy rocking a bright pink mohawk that adds a good seven or eight inches to his short frame.

 

“I shit you not.” She all but yells into the receiver, wondering how bad the static is on Chloe's end. “Ricky got a call from a guy who knows the club owner. There was a last minute cancellation, we took the red-eye.” There's a loud crackle, one pitted with sharp popping sounds, but beneath the unpleasant noise Beca can hear Chloe's gleeful laughter. She rounds a corner and backs herself into a small alcove created by the club's connection to the high-end take out place situated beside it. She crouches down, inexplicably hoping the connection and hubbub from the club will get better the lower she is to the ground.

 

“Your life is insane!” Impossibly, the connection is a tiny bit improved, enough that Beca can hear the smile in Chloe's voice. It seems to stretch through the phone and tug at the corners of her own mouth. She lifts her hand from her ear and runs her fingers through hair in desperate need of cutting. At least she'd had chance to wash it.

 

“Tell me something I don't know.” She knows what's coming. Hears it before the words even have chance to leave Chloe's mouth. She feels her gut tighten in anticipation, her smile stretching into a stupid grin. She doesn't remember ever feeling so excited, so alive.

 

“I miss you!” So... indescribable.

 

“I said something I **don't** know, jerk.” Her eyes flicker towards the end of the makeshift side street she'd turned down in time to catch Ricky appear at the mouth of it, head twisting back and forth like a man possessed. When he finally spots her, he throws his arms out in a silent 'what the hell, Beca?' that she's long since grown used to. She holds up her hand in the universal sign for 'phone', then alters it with a flourish to give him the finger when he taps his wrist impatiently.

 

“You're going to kill it!” Beca keeps on grinning.

 

Chloe is her own personal morale booster. The sunshine that comes out to chase away her rainy days.

 

Beca doesn't know what she'd do without it.

 

She finds the roof access of the building once the gig is done and takes a picture of the brightly lit city with her phone. It's beautiful in a way that nature can't capture, all blinding brilliance and breath-taking chaos. She watches the cars and trams and gazes at the dazzling haphazard rainbow of colours. There's **so much** out there for her to see. 

 

She closes the camera application on her phone and thumbs the screen until a recently received image of Chloe slides into view. 

 

Her smile is still the brightest thing Beca has ever seen.

 

* * *

 

She did kill it that night, just like she kills it at every gig afterwards, and soon enough Beca's name is written in lights outside of clubs packed with people who've “heard about her from a friend” or “saw a youtube clip of her jamming in China”. It's all a little bit like a dream and Ricky keeps on at her that it's nothing, just the beginning. The idea makes her dizzy. Makes her want to pause and catch her breath just for a second. Hold the world still so she can stop and get off, just for a minute.

 

_**Compose new message** _

_**To: Chloe** _

_I think I’m gonna hurl._

 

Her fingers shake as she thumbs the on-screen keyboard, then clutch at the phone as she waits for a reply. The bright light of the display hurt her eyes in the darkness of the dressing room. She'd slipped back in to escape the madness and left the lights off. She always feels better in the dark, like she can escape into the shadows. Her phone chimes a reply and her heart leaps into her throat.

 

_**Chloe** _

_You got this, B._

 

Then slithers back to settle behind her ribcage with a whimper.

 

And Beca might have this.

 

But she's missing something else.

 

* * *

Chloe's wearing a bra and a smile and not much else when the black screen of Skype whirs to life and sound starts filtering through the speakers. Beca coughs a laugh and rolls her widened eyes.

 

“You know,” she begins, watching Chloe's eager expression meld into one of excitement at seeing Beca, “there are like a million people out there who'd pay good money for what you're giving me for free right now.” The redhead chuckles, her face lighting up alongside the sound, and Beca feels warm all over.

 

“How do you think I make my money on the weekends?” Dark eyebrows raise in challenge of the lone ones the other woman has arched in her direction. Beca blinks a few times in slow succession before wrinkling her nose.

 

“I mean, I'd have guessed maybe piano lessons or something?” Chloe laughs again, tucking damp strands of hair behind her ear.

 

“You don't know everything about me, Mitchell.” And she's sure, positive almost, that Chloe's eyes actually twinkle as she says it. Beca scoffs, affronted, but then Chloe's explaining that she'd just hopped out of the shower when she heard the computer announce the DJ's impending arrival and had been too afraid she'd miss her if she paused long enough to put actual clothes on. “And now you’ve got an eyeful, I’ll go cover up the goods.” Beca waves her off and tries not to stare at the abundance of bare skin on display as Chloe walks away.

 

She doesn't succeed.

 

“One of the kids almost set fire to the drums today.” Is Chloe's response to Beca's query about her week. Beca flops back against the headboard of her hotel room bed and waves an arm out in a perfect silent conveyance of “See? See?!”

 

“I keep telling you, boys are like tiny little pyro-terrorists. I don't know how you do it.”

 

“Uh, aca-scuse you.” Beca cringes at the familiar term with perhaps a little more theatricality than is strictly necessary and Chloe grins with all the smug happiness of someone who knows exactly what they're doing. “It was a girl. Stereotype much. She reminded me of you, actually.” Beca rolls her eyes, tugging her gaze away as Chloe wrinkles her nose in a way that is both sheepish and adorable and probably something that shouldn't tug at Beca the way it does.

 

“I hate to ruin my street cred,” she says, once her gaze has returned, “but lighting fires was really more Lilly's thing.” Chloe suddenly jerks her upper body forward towards her computer monitor, her hands coming down hard atop her desk. The slapping sound of palm meeting wood makes Beca jump a little.

 

“Oh my god, do you remember the fire she set at your graduation?” Beca laughs and the sound catches in her throat as Chloe joins in.

 

“Remember it?” Chloe's grinning at her in a way that almost makes her forget what she was about to say. “I think I still have the scar. And I'm pretty sure the freshmen still build a wicker effigy of her every year.” This time damp curls bob and sway as she tosses her head back to laugh again.

 

Even a thousand miles away, there's a warmth that still manages to reach her.

 

Beca's phone belts out a line of “No Diggity” and she doesn't need to be looking at Chloe to know the other woman is grinning.

 

“Who was that?” Chloe's peering at her curiously when Beca's attention returns to the laptop screen. Her eyes are narrowed just a little and her lips are parted in a way that suggests there are questions lingering, still waiting to be asked.

 

“Amy.” Beca says with a smile and, just like that, Chloe's odd curiosity fades. Her lips curve into a smile. “Wants to know if she should put crocodile wrestling on her resume.” Twin eyebrows raise in silent question and Beca shrugs. “Told her it couldn't hurt.” The redhead chuckles and shakes her head. It was funny to think that only a handful of years ago her days had been filled with talk of mermaid dancing and pitch pipes.

 

“I thought it might have been an adoring fan or something.” Beca's expression turns quizzical, the crease in her brow slight but unmistakably present.

 

“Yeah, not really on the market for a stalker?” She says, her voice a semi-mocking whisper. “So I don't generally give my digits to the groupies.” Chloe's hand shoots out and Beca finds herself on the receiving end of a patented Beale finger wag.

 

“But you don't deny there are groupies.” Beca has the good grace to blush a little, because there are and it's weird, but it's also kind of cool. “And I said 'or something'.” Bright blue eyes flicker away from those a shade or two darker and something inside Beca kind of catches at the way Chloe's hands are fidgeting atop her desk. Her heart thuds a little harder in her chest.

 

“No.” She says, eyeing a gouge taken out of the finish on her laptop. The one time she let Ricky touch it. “No somethings.” She exhales slowly in some vein attempt to slow her heart. “No anythings.” And when she lifts her attention once more she finds that Chloe has done the same. Watches as a small smile stretches lips that still manage to look soft even over the questionable quality of the video link. Watches it grow into a grin.

 

And suddenly, with her feet planted firmly on the ground for what seems like the first time in weeks, Beca's flying.

 

* * *

 

There are pictures of Aubrey waiting for her in her inbox. It's not exactly the best way to wake up that Beca can think of, but the redhead also occupying them is a significant balm to the metaphorical burn. With a swipe of her finger she flicks through the mini photo gallery, bleary eyes drinking in every angle of a familiar face as though she's seeing it for the first time, and she feels her stomach knot at the realization.

 

There's an email too, one with an attachment, and in the few moments it takes to download it to her phone Beca's mind wanders towards the different ways in which she could have woken. In Chloe's very real company.

 

The attachment is another photograph, but this one's been altered a bit. It shows Aubrey and Chloe with their faces pressed close together for the camera, matching grins all but dazzling the lens as the sun shines a little less brightly behind them. Text has been added to the bottom right of the image.

 

_Wish you were here!!_

_xox_

 

With a hollow thump of her heart, Beca's thumb extends to trace the curve of Chloe's face.

 

“Me too.”

 

* * *

 

She's got an hour to spare before her gig tonight. She could spend it getting ready, going over the set list, triple checking the mixes; important things. She probably should do that.

 

But Chloe answers after the second ring and all thoughts of anything else just drop away.

 

“Do you ever wonder why it didn't work between you and Jesse?” The redhead's disembodied voice asks out of the blue after a short lull in their conversation. It takes Beca a moment to recover, regain her bearings and pull herself back from that moment in the aisle at Nationals.

 

“No.” And it's such a simple answer to a potentially loaded question, but that doesn't make it any less true.

 

Beca doesn't wonder.

 

She's pretty sure she's always known.

 

* * *

 

_**craterlake3** **.jpg received** _

_**craterlake8.jpg received** _

_**craterlake12.jpg received** _

_**craterlake16.jpg received** _

 

_**Chloe Beale** : It looks amazing, B._

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : It was. It really was._

_There was this tiny old woman (you can kind of see her in the last picture. She's standing with a young kid and a dog) that kept trying to feed me cake that she'd brought with her._

_Pretty sure she was trying to get me to hit my growth spurt or something._

 

_**Chloe Beale:** Hmm, she kinda missed the boat on that one. ;) _

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : One day I'll get tired of the short jokes, then you'll be in trouble.  _

 

_**Chloe Beale:** I am positively shaking in my fuzzy slippers. _

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : Oooh, the red ones? Sexy. ;) _

 

_**Chloe Beale** : How is it that you've memorized every single thing I own? :P _

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : I pay attention to the little things.  _

 

_**Chloe Beale** : Yet you can't remember what you ate for breakfast. ;) _

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : Uh, yeah. I can. :P _

_Wait._

_Coffee counts as breakfast right?_

 

_**Chloe Beale** : God, I hope so. Otherwise I haven't had breakfast in like three weeks.  _

_I’ll make you French toast the next time you're in the area. ;)_

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : Oh my god. _

_The sound I just made was obscene._

 

_**Chloe Beale** : Careful. Ricky might think you have someone in your room. ;)  _

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : Ugh, that might actually be welcome right now. _

 

_**Chloe Beale** : … elaboration?  _

 

_**...Beca Mitchell is typing...** _

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : I think he's kind of into me _

_I mean, I know he is_

_Because he basically told me so_

_Right before I went on last night too. Like, who does that?_

_I was so pissed at him, but he's been giving me these stupid doe-eyes ever since and I don't think he means to_

_but I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I don't do emotional entanglements well. Or, you know, at all._

_Chloe?_

_You still there?_

_**Chloe Beale** : Yeah. _

_Sorry._

_Processing._

_**Beca Mitchell** : I feel like my head will explode if I try and process any more.  _

_**Chloe Beale** : Do you like him back? _

_**Beca Mitchell** : What are we, in fifth grade? _

_**Chloe Beale** : It's a simple question, Beca.  _

_**Beca Mitchell** : No, I don't like him back. _

_Jesus, Chloe._

_Have I ever given you that impression?_

 

_**Chloe Beale** : No. _

_It's just_

_It's not as though you're very forthcoming with what you're feeling a lot of the time._

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : So you think I’m just hiding shit from you?  _

 

_**Chloe Beale** : That's not what I said. _

_God, why are you attacking me right now?_

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : Because I came to you for advice, not accusations.  _

 

_**Chloe Beale** : I'm not accusing you of anything! I'm just asking a simple question. _

 

_**… Beca Mitchell is typing...** _

 

_**Beca Mitchell** : Except nothing is ever fucking simple, is it? _

 

_**Beca Mitchell is offline** _

 

* * *

 

There's no text from Chloe to greet her, make her morning worth waking for. No photograph of a smiling face to curl the corners of her lips as she crawls groggily from the beckoning arms of sleep.

 

Chloe's consistency has faltered.

 

And Beca feels like she's drowning without it.

 

There's a gnawing at the pit of her stomach and talons that twist her insides every time she even thinks about moving. About getting up and trying to go on with the day, even though everything is screaming that it hasn't started properly. Can't start properly.

 

Her thumbs are moving before her brain has finished telling them what to do.

 

_**Compose new message** _

_**To: Chloe** _

_I'm sorry I was such a dick last night._

 

There's silence beneath the sheets she got pulled over her head to create a kind of cocoon around her that gives her a sense of security that she's well aware is false. She tries to pretend she doesn't know though and instead focuses on the rapid beating of her heart. Her hands are sweaty and the phone almost slips from her right one as she holds it up in front of her face and stares at the image she has set as her wallpaper. It feels like a lifetime ago that they'd shared a college campus, but the proof is in the picture. It shows them sitting on the front steps of Barden, Beca having been all but headlocked into a hug and squished close to Chloe so that they'd both be in frame. She's grinning, one of those rare, face-splitting grins that stretches from ear to ear, the ones that only Chloe can bring out in her. And Beca's eyeballing the camera, but Chloe's finger must have hit the button too soon because she was still staring at the brunette when the flash went off, wearing a smile to match. It's one of Beca's favourite pictures.

 

For reasons her brain is a little too slow to piece together.

 

_**1 New Message** _

_**Chloe** _

_It's okay._

 

But her heart knows. And it thrums against her ribs like thunder.

 

* * *

 

It's ten days of insanity after that. Ten days of driving and trains and trams and utter, utter bat-shit crazy. Ricky does manage to make time for a stop at Lake Taehoe, though it's barely more than a drive by. Sometimes she suspects the sightseeing is the only reason he comes along for the ride. She snaps some pictures anyway. Still, between the travelling and the gigs themselves, not to mention the mixing, Beca barely has time to eat. Sometimes she foregoes that in favour of firing off a quick text to Chloe. She realises her priorities are perhaps not where they should be, but that doesn't seem to matter when her phone lights up with a response she can't help but sneak a peek at.

 

“Mitchell!” Deep blue eyes dart from the screen and catch sight of Ricky, shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal gently tanned skin and, there he goes, tapping the watch on his wrist again. “Half an hour, you got that mix ready or what?” Beca rolls her eyes at him dismissively. He's less weird now, less puppy-like since she finally grew a pair and told him that they just weren't in the cards. Not her deck, anyway. She'd expected it to be a lot weirder actually, and the slip back into normality has been pleasantly surprising.

 

“Transferring to a flash drive near you as we speak.” There's a few moment of silence and then a pop-up letting her know all is well in the world of musical transference slides onto the screen. She pulls it out of the USB port and waves it at him. “See? All done.” He claps his hands in that impatient manner that often makes her want to grind her teeth until they crumble out of her head, but today it doesn't bother her so much. Today she feels lighter, somehow. Maybe it's the thrill of finally finishing the mix. Mixes, to be exact, ones it seems like she's been working on forever, though the actual start date of most of them elude her now. It's been a while though and she stares at the flash drive thoughtfully as Ricky drives her to the club.

 

They're in San Francisco, speeding over the Golden Gate Bridge, and the lights flashing by in the passenger seat window almost make Beca dizzy. They're bright and brilliant and the city at night is all kinds of beautiful. Part of her thinks she should take a picture, capture the moment. Another part of her can't quite stomp out the sounds of clapping hands and the popping of a plastic cup.

 

She slides the flash drive into a pocket and pulls out her phone.

 

_**Compose new message** _

_**To: Chloe** _

_ I miss you. _

 

On her fourth attempt, Beca finally manages to hit “send”.

 

* * *

 

Beca isn't a robot. A lot of people think she is; see her surface scowl and sarcasm and assume she either has no heart or that the part of her brain that processes emotion has had some kind of permanent malfunction. Truth is, she doesn't **like** emotions. She doesn't like feeling shit that makes her lose even an ounce of control. 

 

Music is different. The mixing, it's kind of cathartic for her. She can mould the tracks, make them fit, set all of the feelings the music gives her into pretty little rectangular boxes and tell them exactly what to do and when. She's rarely caught off guard by music, almost always knows exactly what to expect.

 

_**Chloe** _

_ I miss you too :) _

 

Chloe Beale is like that hidden melody or lyric. The one lying in wait to spring out from the chorus and smack you upside the head with the heaviest two-by-four made entirely of compressed feelings you've ever had the misfortune of colliding with and she just....

 

She takes every last molecule of air out of a room, even when she isn't in it.

 

Beca feels her heart clench and then start to race, and at first it feels like a panic attack. Then it feels like something else and she kind of wishes it **was** just a panic attack. Head in her hands, she's glad the club is empty now but she wishes the lights hadn't come up. 

 

The tell-tale squeak of a barstool alerts her to the fact that she is no longer alone and she releases a breath in preparation of scurrying away before they have the chance to say anything to her. But then she sees a drink come to rest in front of her through the gap in her hands and a small sense of relief slips in through the anxiety.

 

“Should call her, you know.” Ricky's voice is hoarse, probably from screaming over her beats. He's kind of her number one fan, after Chloe, and during her sets he's either hanging close by in case she needs anything or out on the dance floor with the rest of the crowd. Beca stares at the glass he's placed in front of her, watches as the bubbles from the coke fizzle and rise. Wonders if the rum in it would burn in a good way or just make her feel like shit tonight. This morning. Whatever. Finally, she drops her hands to the bar top and gives him a sidelong glance that says everything on her mind at that moment. He shrugs. “It's not like it ain't obvious, Becs.” She cocks an eyebrow before drawing both together and glaring at him. He remains unaffected, and infuriating, like always. “Do you even listen to your own mixes anymore?” Her insides start to crawl at his words, like some insidious serpent of truth is slithering through her veins. “I've never even met this chick and even I can see she's all over them.” With fangs that nip and tear at her vitals to leave her, quite unconcernedly, with internal bleeding she can feel. It warms her gut, makes her feel sick.

 

“You're off your meds.” She grumbles, taking a long draw from the glass he'd placed in front of her. It does burn, but it's the good kind. The kind that reminds her she is actually alive, even if she feels anything but. Ricky takes a swig from his beer bottle and gives a shake of his head as he swallows.

 

“Yeah, and you're full of shit.” No one else can call her out like he can and it's not only because she won't let anyone else. It's been like that from day one between them, he got past her walls like Chloe did, he just took a different route. “Call her, Beca.” Her eyes flit to their sides and she takes in his profile from her periphery. She wonders, briefly, if this is difficult for him. Wonders why the fuck anyone would want to give into their feelings when all they seem to do is cause misery and grief. “We both know you need to.”

 

But part of her understands that there's often little choice in the matter.

 

* * *

 

It's 5am by the time she's back in her hotel room, off of the quiet San Francisco streets and away from the too-bright rays of sun that are starting to spill out over the bay. She's aware that it's a pretty sight, isn't ignorant to those things after travelling so far and seeing so many breath-taking landmarks, but her mind is too frenzied to be focused, even if it's only focused on one thing.

 

She shrugs out of her jacket and lets it fall to lie in a crumpled heap on the floor of the room, then brings her hands to her hair. It's bedraggled and longer than she likes it, but she hasn't had much time for haircuts. She saves those moments for brief bouts of sightseeing and mixing and Chloe, the important stuff.

 

The important stuff.

 

She runs her fingers through her hair, de-tangling a knot she encounters on the down stroke, and lets out her held breath in a long, slow exhale. And it's so stupid. And crazy.

 

But her hands shake as she clumsily digs her phone out from her back pocket.

 

It's just Chloe.

 

But it's **Chloe**.

 

And it all kind of makes sense, even if Beca doesn't realise that yet.

 

She makes the short walk to her bed and turns, flopping backward onto it bonelessly, her eyes never leaving the phone she's holding up in front of her face. Her teeth worry her lower lip with enough pressure to threaten breaking the skin, but she manages to stop herself before it gets that far. Because her thumb is dialling Chloe's number and she doesn't dare close her mouth in case she forgets how to breathe through her nose and passes out.

 

And what the hell is going on?

 

It's just Chloe.

 

_**ring ring** _

 

It's just Chloe.

 

_**ring ring** _

 

It's just-

 

_**click** _

 

“Hello?”

 

“Chloe.” Her name leaves Beca's lips like a prayer and relief, huge and profound, floods her. She imagines that's how someone close to drowning feels when they're pulled out of the water and take their first big breath of air. And she really, really hates it when Ricky's right.

 

But she didn't realise just how much she needed this.

 

“I thought it said your name!” And Chloe's voice is like the sunshine trying desperately to reach Beca through her closed curtains. “I wasn't sure if it was just the pre-school crazies messing with me though.” Only it actually makes it. Curls around her like warmth and light and squeezes her until she finally starts to breathe again. Her eyes flutter shut and Chloe's face flicks to life behind her lids. “Beca?” She can hear her heart racing and actually feel her stomach tying itself in knots.

 

“I...” And it's like she's forgotten how to speak. As though she missed the day vocabularies were being handed out and she's never wanted to play a mix in order to convey her feelings so bad in her life. Because what can she possible say when she's only just starting to put all the pieces together herself? “Hi.”

 

“Hi yourself.” She can see Chloe's megawatt smile clear as day in her mind. See the slight concerned furrow of her brow. It feels like something has reached into her chest and given her heart a swift but firm flick. “Everything okay? You sound...” Beca can hear her struggling to find the right word, hears the quiet exhalation of breath that means she's found it, “Off.” And Beca can't help it. Laughter bubbles up from the nervous pit her stomach has become and explodes from her. Because she's literally said about two and a half words to the other woman and Chloe can **tell**.

 

And damn it if it hasn't been like that from day one.

 

“What's so funny?” She can hear the unsure smile creeping its way around the words and takes a breath to quell her laughter, not wanting to actually worry the redhead. The fingers of her free hand fidget with the open cuff of her undone button up.

 

“Nothing.” And it's only a little bit of a lie. “Nothing, I just...” her lip is back between her teeth and her eyes are open and fixed on the flat and uninteresting ceiling of the room. There are no patterns to be found there, like there would have been were she in her or Chloe's dorm back at Barden, but she sees images reflected on the surface regardless. Chloe is the exact opposite of Beca when it comes to feelings and emotions and all that other “girly crap”. If they'd met in high school, Beca might have anonymously slipped her a mix tape that outlined her feelings in boldly coloured lyrics and shining melodies. It would have been clumsy, but it would have been easier for her. Because Beca's never been too good with words, ones on their own without any kind of musical accompaniment. For an instant, her mind flickers to Jesse and how maybe it would have been easier if he'd been there to score the moment for her, but then it's back and she can hear Chloe's soft breathing in her ear. “I needed to hear your voice.” Each word is spoken with a painful slowness, one that borders on the ridiculous, but it's necessary for her. Slow and steady wins the race and it would appear as though she's been unknowingly running this particular marathon for quite a while now. God, who knew she was so dense?

 

There's no sound at all from the other end of the phone for a good few heartbeats and for one horrifying, heart-stopping second, Beca wonders if she's said too much. If all the desperation and need and longing that's been pouring out of her for the last few days has culminated in an act of insanity that she can't crawl back from.

 

Because Beca doesn't say shit like that. To anyone. Ever. Because things like silence and rejection happen and then people leave and she's alone again.

 

The breathing resumes on the other side once more and her own catches in her throat as Chloe speaks.

 

“You... did?” And there's no one else on the face of the entire planet who should be as sure of herself as Chloe Beale should be, but the bubbly redhead has the kind of vulnerable side that a person has to dig a little to get to, but once they find it it's like they've struck oil. Friendship cemented. And if they thought they were whipped before, the way her eyes shine when she's upset and her shoulder's hunch like she's attempting to pull back into herself when she's trying not to cry can basically render a grown man hog-tied. So it pulls at Beca now, hearing her sound so vulnerable while she's too far away for her to curl into and make her huff like it's actually a problem, even though it never has been. Because Chloe's different. And even though Beca's always known that she's never really thought about the “why” of it before. But it's definitely there, the toe of its shoe kicking shyly at the ground as it waits for her to notice it.

 

“Yeah.” Beca rasps, the word scraping along her suddenly dry throat like sandpaper against splintered wood. She feels something rise from the very centre of her gut and reach up into her chest, trying to grip the words that are attempting to follow. The gnarled and knobby spectral hands of fear and uncertainty land just shy of their mark. “I really miss you.” And she may have grown accustomed to feeling it, but actually forming the words without the adrenaline rush of excitement making her dizzy is so foreign to her that at first she can't be sure they've left her mouth in the correct order. There's a second of blinding panic as she goes back over them in her head and tries to convince herself that, no, it came out fine and then:

 

“I miss you too.” Her fingers, absently twisting a few strands of hair, come to rest against her crown and part of her has the good grace to be mildly disgusted by the way her heart feels like it literally skips upon hearing the quietly voiced confession. And even though Beca knows that Chloe's heart is quick to leap from its place at the very edge of her sleeve, she also knows that Chloe's more than careful when it comes to where it lands.

 

And it kind of takes her breath away when she realises she wants to be the one to catch it.

 

“Did you... is that why you called? To say that?” Chloe's tone isn't mocking in the least, it's genuine curiosity that gives it its lilt, and so Beca lets herself laugh in that semi self-deprecating way that Chloe is no doubt familiar with and rolls her eyes at herself before covering them with the back of her hand. Her brow furrows under the persistent press of mortification but for once it doesn't feel all that crushing.

 

“Maybe?” It's not a question. “Kind of?” It never was. “Yeah.” She let the air whistle out in a rush from between her parted lips. “Is that okay?” She asks it too quickly and the words knock together like a pair of uncoordinated feet. It's too new and the almost unbearable giddy anxiety flickering about inside her is so strange, she can't hold her mind still long enough to try and work out what she should and shouldn't be saying, but that doesn't seem to matter to Chloe.

 

“Yeah.” She can picture the way Chloe's mouth curves around the answer, the way her eyes sparkle like the sea. “That's totally okay.”

 

It is, Beca realises. It's more than okay.

 

* * *

 

Santa Cruz is a success. A rather large, undeniable success. Ricky's head is ready to explode around the grin he can't keep off his face by the time she sees him during her first intermission and he wraps her up in one of his overbearing but not entirely unwelcome hugs, lifting her clear off the ground with ease. She's learned not to squeak by now, having finally understood that such actions only prolonged the hug and added some swinging and bouncing, and so she calmly schools her expression and waits for him to put her down. He has to shout a bit to be heard over the beat she's left running.

 

“They're gonna be throwing underwear at you by the end of the night.” She rolls her eyes and brushes by him, reaching across the bar the grab the attention of the man serving behind it. He gives her a thumbs up to indicate he's got her covered and then Beca turns back to face her manager, nose winkled in distaste.

 

“God, I hope not.” He folds his arms across his broad chest and moves to stand beside her, back against the bar top.

 

“Can't be a rock star without gaining a few panties and jockstraps.” She barks a laugh and shakes her head, shooting him a sidelong glance.

 

“I don't **want** to be a rock star.” She reminds him loudly, as if that'll make it stick this time. Ricky dismisses her words with a wave then catches movement in his periphery and reaches around to grab the drink the bar tender has just left behind them. He hands it to Beca with a wink and then picks up his own.

 

“To success then, Miss Producer.” She gives him a look but raises her glass anyway to clink it against his.

 

“Remember what we talked about? With the chickens and the counting of them before they hatch?” She takes a sip of her coke and the bubbles burn on the way down. He laughs, incredulous.

 

“When are you going to stop being such a Debbie Doubter?” Dark blue eyes turn wide and Beca tilts her head to regard him with an expression that lies somewhere close to wondering, a disbelieving smile stretching her lips.

 

“Oh my god, are you **actually** from the fifties?” He ignores her, tossing back his first jack and coke of the night. The music thumps around them and Beca takes the momentary lapse in conversation to glance around at the people milling about, dancing. To her mixes, her music, her beats. Each arrangement a part of her heart and soul. It wasn't something she ever expected to get used to, the memory of hearing a mix over a campus radio station and how it made her feel still too fresh in her mind, and she hasn't. It still feels like it did the first time. She wishes Chloe could be with her, see the people, feel the music, share the moment.

 

She just wishes Chloe was there.

 

It kind of hurts, how much she wants that.

 

“-tomorrow, and then what?” She just catches the tail end of what Ricky's saying and snaps her head in his direction, blinking stupidly up at him until he realises she hasn't been paying attention. “This is why you never got call backs before me, you don't pay attention. Probably didn't hear the phone ringing.” He huffs, but it's good natured, and she has the decency to flash a sheepish smile as she takes another drink. “Last gig. L.A. End of peak season. What cometh after?” He's been asking her this for a week. It's not as though the gigs are really drying up, but they aren't scrounging for money and clawing at the fifth spot at an 'open mic night' anymore. It's the optimal time for a break, but she could just keep going. Keep doing the circuit, make sure she hits every angle she can. She isn't sure why she keeps dancing around the answer. It's not as though she isn't sure, Beca Mitchell's always known what she wants, even when it's buried under everything else.

 

She downs the remainder of the glass as she hears her set start to wind down and then deposits it back onto the bar top. He's still watching her expectantly when she lifts her gaze to look at him.

 

They'll never not be friends, even if life takes them in different directions. Ricky kind of reminds Beca of Jesse in that once you actually become friends it's a literal life sentence and they will make damn sure you remain shackled to them in some way. A non-dirty, non-slave type way. She reaches out and gives his forearm an affectionate squeeze. His expression softens as he takes in the gesture, glancing down and then back up at her. She scrunches up her nose and looks almost apologetic.

 

“Can I take the car?”

 

Almost.

 

* * *

 

She's seen photographs of the house, ones uploaded from Chloe's camera and attached to an almost incoherent email that had been sent the very same day the redhead had signed the papers. Her parents had helped pay for it, anything to give their baby girl a decent start in life - “So, you're parents are like, totally loaded?” - and Chloe's excitement had been practically palpable even with the distance separating them.

 

It's even nicer in person, like most things. A modest one storey with a basement; two bedrooms and a bathroom on the main, a nice open room with a half bath on the lower. The laundry room is down there too, along with another that, when last Beca had been informed, was still empty. Chloe has big aspirations for it though, as she does everything. Of course, Beca can't see any of this from the outside, but the exterior of the house is just as lovely as the pictures of the inside with its pale blue siding and white trim. It's very... Chloe, and the notion brings a smile to Beca's face despite her weariness.

 

She hadn't been crazy enough to drive the forty-two hours without a break, but the copious amount of Red Bull she's consumed might very well have carried her the entire way had she tried. As it is, she lands at Chloe's doorstep with a serious case of the jitters and tries to put it down to the sugar and caffeine surging through her system, or the lack of sleep she got last night despite the reasonably comfortable motel bed.

 

She knows those things are only partly to blame. The real reason is likely surrounded by a gaggle of school children – Beca is almost positive that's the correct name for a gathering of them, a topic that has in fact been discussed at length – right about now. When does school get out now? Should she have called ahead? She should have called ahead. What if Chloe has plans or--

 

No. Chloe doesn't. They have a Skype date set for seven, one Beca had sworn she'd keep on pain of death because it would likely be the first time they would get to talk properly after her L.A. gig. They've spoken since, Beca can't remember the last time a day went by where neither sent a single text, but it's been sporadic because of the driving and part of Beca's glad for that. Because while part of her is too anxious to actually be talking about what she's doing, another part of her wants her appearance to be a surprise.

 

Somewhere, Jesse is smirking at her.

 

And it's with that fond mental image that Beca finally steps out of Ricky's car and strides towards the house.

 

It's funny, she can so easily picture Chloe stretched across a porch swing even though it's definitely not something she's actually witnessed in real life. She can see it clear as day though, the redhead nestled beneath a thin blanket to ward off the gentle breeze drifting in just ahead of the night, going over plans for the next day's class or maybe just relaxing with a book. Maybe she'd just sit there and people watch. But it doesn't really matter what Chloe's doing in the visual, only matters that Beca can so easily imagine it.

 

She climbs the three steps that lead up from the pathway to the porch that brackets the front of the house, its roof providing ample shade from the sun that's currently hiding behind a group of clouds, and makes her way over to the bench. She regards it thoughtfully for a moment, trying to recall if she'd ever sat in one before and finding herself unable to bring a memory to light, then gives the arm an experimental push with her fingertip. It creaks on its chains, but not in a way that conveys a lack of safety, and so Beca gingerly drops onto the swing. Its rocking motion is almost soothing.

 

The nerves she feels aren't there because she's uncertain of Chloe, of Beca's own feelings or vice versa. That hasn't really been a question over the last few days; it's all so obvious, it makes her sick to think about how blind she's been. No, the anxiety is born from her inability to be sure of what exactly to say when Chloe arrives, because if Beca **can** be sure about something it's that she isn't any better with words than she was three days ago.

 

She definitely should have made a mix.

 

She sits in silence for a long time, not even checking her phone in favour of watching the steady stream of low-key busyness that trickles through the idyllic street. Dark blue eyes catch sight of a tall blonde leaving the house across from Chloe's, chasing after a smaller version of herself who giggles gleefully as she motors across the fenced in lawn, and the mother offers a quick wave to a man walking by with a dog. These are Chloe's neighbours, people who have likely seen the redhead every day in the last few years. It's insanity, much like the rest of Beca's life, but the jealousy niggles at her all the same.

 

It's been over a year since the last time they saw each other in the flesh. Amy had sent out invitations for a “Birthday Bash-cum-Bella Reunion”, and yes, that had been the actual spelling used on them. Everyone had managed to make it; Cynthia-Rose, Chloe, Stacie, and Jessica had even managed to clear the weekend, but everyone else – Beca included – had had places to be. Still, she'd made the most of the day and a half she'd been given and Amy and Chloe both had texted her with details of what she'd missed.

 

It's only now, looking back after the hours she's had to process things that Beca truly recognises just how much she'd missed Chloe prior to that party. How unusual it was for her to feel such a surge of emotion when presented with the physical form of another person. She'd felt happy and relieved and something else, entirely indescribable, all at once.

 

Maybe Aubrey had been right that time she'd told Beca she was obviously wearing her headphones too tight - “It's restricting the flow of blood to your brain and making you stupid.” - not that she'd ever admit to it. Out loud. Anywhere within a hundred mile radius of the former captain.

 

She wonders what she'll say to Chloe, when the moment arrives. Wonders what the redhead's reaction will be if Beca can calm herself long enough to actually get the words out. She's never been very good at the whole “talking to people” thing, let alone “talking to people about feelings”. She briefly considers the notion of just kissing Chloe and announcing her feelings that way – after all, that's something Chloe herself might do – but the idea makes her palms sweat in a way that's more than slightly disconcerting and so she decides against it. After a while she decides it's pointless to worry about something that would probably change last minute anyway, because that's just how panicking works, and so she's thinking about all the possible things Chloe might say to **her** when Beca hears a car door close and her attention is yanked violently from her thoughts.

 

And then there she is; dying sunlight catching the red curls that tumble about her face and setting them aflame. Beca feels her heartbeat stumble forward into a run and if her body weren't completely immobilized by the other woman's presence, she'd probably have launched herself from the swing as an overreaction to the feeling. As it is, she sits there dumbly, because it's all kind of breath-taking.

 

Now, somewhere, Jesse's laughing at her. And if that “somewhere” were “here”, she'd probably just let him get on with it because Chloe would still be locking her car and moving towards the path leading up to the house and Beca would still be completely and utterly frozen. Because while she's spent the last two days thinking constantly about this moment, it hasn't actually prepared her for it in the slightest. Thoughts fly by a mile a minute, not even slowing long enough to give her chance to grab one, so she just stares as Chloe nears her. Watches her movements with such attentiveness, anyone would swear she was committing them to memory. Maybe she is. She can't hold the thought down long enough to process it.

 

She can't be sure, but she thinks the humming she's hearing is coming from Chloe and isn't actually the swelling crescendo of a “movie moment” that Jesse is somehow filtering into her brain. And it's almost like speech, almost like singing, almost like the first actual real-life conversation they've had in **so long**.

 

She watches Chloe climb the steps as her heart pounds in her ears and her surroundings sway as if the chair's still swinging beneath her. It **is** the redhead humming and close up the sound yanks Beca back through time by the collar of her ever present plaid button down. Instantaneous and a little violent, the pull drops her on her ass in the middle of an empty swimming pool and the bluest eyes she's ever seen are smiling at her encouragingly. And she realises, or is reminded, that the acoustics weren't the only thing that had been perfect that night.

 

Chloe's almost to the door before she notices Beca, one hand holding her bag open while the other rummages inside for her keys.

 

“Try the front pocket.” Red hair sways violently as Chloe's head snaps up and Beca's eyes are met with cerulean oceans. A current runs under the moment, skips up to run through it, and then Beca feels amusement rise at the slack-jawed expression on her friend's face. She crinkles her nose and offers a half-hearted explanation. “They're always in the last place you look.” But it's probably not the one Chloe's looking for. Keys forgotten, the bag drops from Chloe's hands to swing from the strap over her shoulder and the shriek that leaves her, Beca's sure, is enough to almost pierce her eardrums.

 

There's a retort from Aubrey, sitting somewhere in the back of her brain, about how one more ear piercing won't hurt.

 

Then, she's being rushed. And she's given approximately one-point-six seconds to anticipate what's about to happen before the porch swing is nearly rocked from its hinges and her arms are filled with Chloe. Her heart seizes or perhaps thuds more enthusiastically than she's used to, whatever it is it hurts, but the pain is okay somehow. As soon as she registers it, it's gone. Eased with a balm that soothes and unsettles in the same breath.

 

Because Chloe's **on** her. Actually on top of her, straddling, and part of Beca thinks this might be more awkward than their impromptu naked shower time, but then she realises that nothing is likely to ever top that in terms of mortification.

 

Except maybe this, if all doesn't go well.

 

Oh, there's that niggling subset of nerves that had been so wonderfully absent earlier. Of course.

 

She can feel Chloe giggling against her neck, feel the fistful of shivers the joyful action pulls down her spine, and she gives in just for a moment, closes her eyes. Her arms come up in a way that they don't with anyone else, curve around Chloe's back and she rests her palms against the small of it like they kind of belong there. The other woman smells like apples.

 

“What are you doing here?” Chloe's words are an excited murmur as she leans back and Beca's eyes pop open on impulse. She wonders if she looks as “deer in the headlights” as she feels. Even with the hour or two she's been sitting there, she's not ready to explain why just yet. She needs to gear up to it, perhaps confess her reason for being there behind closed doors, but Chloe's eyes and expression are expectant and she needs to hear something.

 

“I was in the neighbourhood?” She shrugs as she says it, but her arms don't move, fingers refusing to unlock so that her hands might drop away. The redhead's smile is brilliant and her eyes crinkle at the corners under the pressure of it. Beca's heart gives another overly dramatic thud and, okay, so this ridiculous reaction to being the reason Chloe so much as smiles is going to take no small measure of getting used to. She takes a breath.

 

“Did you drive all the way from L.A. just to surprise me?” And it leaves her in a rush. She feels heat creep along the back of her neck and a familiar sense of needled-ire rises. Chloe had compared her to a porcupine once, during a late night coffee break at the station. She'd threatened to nickname her “Prickles” and Beca had had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep her scowl in place.

 

“Did you really just mount me?” She's deflecting and Chloe's knows it. Knows the irritation lacing the question isn't as 'red alert' as Beca would have anyone else believe. It's why the redhead doesn't move, doesn't so much as blink.

 

“I was excited to see you.” She's smiling still, and Beca feels something like butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Only it can't be that because, god, that's almost against her religion or something and if the thought ever slipped out she's pretty sure she'd die on the spot

 

“Like, dog-excited?” So instead she falls back on what she knows. “Are you going to pee on me or start humping my leg?” Inappropriate filler, courtesy of her lack of brain to mouth filter. But Chloe laughs, like she always does when Beca looks at her like she's looking at her now – all feigned bravado tinged with a bright red blush – and it makes her feel warm all over. And Chloe leans back in, just a little. Too slow and with far too much flirtatious seduction glimmering in blue eyes.

 

“I'll try to contain myself.” And now Beca's burning up. She smiles, one that screams of awkward uncertainty, and she can feel every nervous worry start to claw its way up from the pit of her stomach. Then Chloe's arms are squeezing her around the neck and Beca's face is buried in red hair again. “I'm so happy to see you.” And suddenly, she's okay again.

 

* * *

 

They make it into the house only after Chloe had participated in a two and a half minute conversation with her neighbour from the comfort of Beca's lap. As if conversing while straddling someone on a porch bench was common practise here. Maybe it was; she didn't know much about the area. The woman with whom Chloe had been speaking had given them an odd look at first. Regardless, Chloe had taken the hint – eventually – when Beca had stared at her with raised eyebrows and then proceeded to gently prod her hips when that didn't seem like it was going to be enough.

 

“Drink?” Chloe asks, shedding her jacket and hanging it on the coat rack – an honest to god, real life coat rack – before moving down the hallway. Beca follows, eyes scanning pale green walls as they pass by stairs leading down to the basement floor. They flicker over a framed picture of the Bellas that had been taken the night they won at the ICCAs and she feels her lips curve into a smile as she replies.

 

“Water?” She tries to ignore the urge to ask for something stronger, but it just smacks her in the face when Chloe shoots a smile over her shoulder.

 

“For a badass alt-girl, you're really kind of bland.” Beca makes a show of scoffing, even as her feet trip over her heart and that same awkward uncertainty that had gripped her outside replaces the very blood in her veins. If Chloe notices, she doesn't let it show. They're in the kitchen then, a nicely sized space with blue tile flooring and stainless steel appliances. The refrigerator is monstrous and Beca makes a show of asking how much rent it charges Chloe to live in its house as she's handed a bottle of ice-cold Evian. Chloe doesn't dignify the remark with an answer and Beca can't help but smirk around the mouth of the bottle at the look she's being given.

 

Even with all the nerves and butterflies, there's just something about the redhead that puts Beca at ease.

 

She's ushered into the living room – home to a television that she suspects is perma-tuned to either the National Geographic channel or whichever one shows America's Next Top Model – and all but forced down onto the plushest couch Beca has ever sat on or seen.

 

“Oh my god,” she says, sinking into it with wide blue eyes, “did you make this out of clouds?” Chloe laughs like an angel. It's all easy conversation then, for a little while at least, and Beca asks about the house and Chloe fills her in on the things she's missed over the last few days. It can't last, and Beca knows it. Knows Chloe will ask again once the high of conversation has worn off, but she takes all the time afforded her for what its worth in the hope that when the question rolls around again she'll be ready.

 

“How come you're here, Becs?” She isn't. She's not ready for it, nor the way Chloe scoots closer, bending her knee to tuck one leg underneath her. “Was Santa Cruz... did it not go that well?” With a few quick texts she'd told Chloe that it'd gone well, great even, but the other woman knows her well enough to know that Beca sometimes tries to cover up disappointment.

 

Still, it strikes her then. Chloe's words and the weight of them. The idea that if things hadn't gone well, if all of Beca's hopes and dreams had fallen apart on that stage in California, there would have been only one place in the word where she would have felt comfortable escaping to. Or, maybe not a place, maybe many places. Just as long as that one person was there.

 

“You.” The word is little more than a breathless whisper. So much so that, at first, Beca doesn't realise she's spoken at all. Not until Chloe's hand snakes across her thigh in a way that she assumes is supposed to be comforting, but leaves fire in its wake instead of calm. Fingers are laced with her own and Beca feels her hand being tugged on, urging her attention away from a blank spot on the wall. She tilts her head to the side and finds Chloe directing a bemused smile at her.

 

“Me what?” Everything, Beca thinks, shaking her head in defeat. There's no way back from here and she knows it. No way back from a cross country drive and any potential damage done to her liver by her stock pile of Red Bull. No way back from admitting everything she's feeling to herself.

 

There's only Chloe. Who'd never do anything to hurt anyone and always has a smile just waiting to surface and outshine the sun.

 

And Beca's kind of terrified, because suddenly it's all very, very real.

 

“You, ah...” she flounders, falling over a handful of vowel sounds in a flurry of painful facial expressions and hand gestures. She can feel Chloe's gaze on her, cool blue burning the side of her face as her hand is squeezed, and it doesn't make it any easier. So, she disentangles their fingers as gently as she can and tries to ignore the look of hurt confusion that passes over the redhead's face as Beca stands and moves so that the glass coffee table is between them. Fleetingly, she hopes she won't get body slammed through it by the end of this. “You're the reason I'm here.” She says at length, words slow and calculating as though she's making every effort to ensure the right ones come out of her mouth. Chloe's smile returns to full strength at the sound of them and Beca's heart gives an embarrassingly exuberant thud at the sight of it.

 

She's so screwed.

 

“Not to sound full of myself, but I kind of assumed I had something to do with it.” The thing about Chloe is that she's the embodiment of traits and mannerisms that most regular folk can't pull off. Certainly not if they attempted to roll them all into one perfect package. But Chloe's made up of mysterious smirks and razor sharp smarts, coquettish winks and random acts of true altruism. And while Beca has strived for perfection in many aspects of her life, finding it in a person – one you find yourself having actual, real feelings for to boot – is not something she'd anticipated.

 

And she's so unbelievably frustrated that she can't put **any** of this into words.

 

“Come on, you're starting to make me worry.” Chloe's voice is pitted with joviality, but the way that her lips tremble about the smile she wears lets Beca know that there is some genuine worry under that cheery disposition. She takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, trying to ignore the frown lines that crease Chloe's forehead when she sees what she's doing.

 

“I'm pretty sure the only reason Ricky decided to be my manager is because he's a closet tourist-spot whore.” It seems so out of left field, Chloe's expression says as much, but Beca can't think of another way to start this. She can feel her palms sweating and has to wipe them on the material of her jeans. She sends her gaze around the room, letting it land on the mantel of the fireplace where small crystalline figures are prominently displayed. Beca thinks she remembers seeing one in Chloe's dorm back at Barden and her lips quirk when she recalls the image of a small unicorn sitting on a windowsill, sunlight glittering off its surface. Of course Chloe would love unicorns. “That he saw it as a chance to check out all the roadside attractions he's been obsessed with since his youth or something.” Her smile widens as she thinks about those first few weeks on the road with Ricky. What had started out as a semi-awkward partnership had quickly shifted into the realm of friendship when they'd bonded over a mutual love of chilli-cheese fries and lime-infused beer. Honestly, she couldn't picture life without him anymore, not that she'd ever tell him that to his face.

 

“And what, having the company of a super talented Deejay was just a perk?” It's meant to be a joke, Beca knows, but the truth behind Chloe's words – that Chloe **believes** her words to be true – strike a cord inside her, the reverberations of which are too strong for her to simply push aside right now. Because Chloe has always believed in her, wholeheartedly, even when Beca herself had not. Chloe's dedication to her has been unwavering, she's held on even as Beca had gone bouncing around the world. And that's always meant a lot, but Beca's never sat down to really analyse that before. “You don't give yourself enough credit.”

 

How dedicated a person has to be to truly be a constant. And what that level of dedication might mean.

 

“Maybe you give me too much.” She watches the soft frown take shape on Chloe's brow and feels her gut twist. She's not getting to her point quick enough and she can see with her own eyes that the redhead is suffering because of it. That's not how this conversation was supposed to go, not how it went any of the times she ran through the motions in her mind. She was quick and plain and to the point; the complete opposite of how she usually behaves in similar, potentially stressful situations. Maybe she should have expected this. Been prepared. “We've been friends for a while, right?” Chloe nods up at her, but the motion is a cautious one. She's moving as though she's unsure as to whether or not this is some kind of trick question. “And you've always...” Beca sighs and runs her fingers through her hair as if she's hoping to find the words buried under dishevelled locks. “You're basically the best friend I've ever had.” She feels the wave of heat rush up along the back of her neck and around to her cheeks, staining her skin a faint red. For a second she looks away, embarrassment tugging at her, but she's in too deep to try and swim for the shore now. She looks back in time to see Chloe's soft smile reappear and it warms her. Staves off a little of her nervous trembling.

 

“Back at you.” And she's always so cheery, like nothing ever gets her down, and Beca can't count the times she's been thankful for the infectiousness of that.

 

“But that isn't... that's not what...” She can't find the words. Can't conceive of a way to explain and god, she's never been good with her emotions. She usually covers them in a black mood until they recede into the shadows. But Chloe's the brightest light Beca has ever seen and somehow, it always manages to reach her.

 

Chloe is Beca's constant.

 

And Beca wants to make sure it stays that way.

 

But **something** has to change. 

 

“Do you know what I do first thing in the morning? As soon as I wake up?” Chloe shakes her head and Beca smiles as she says it, like she's reliving a fond memory. “I check my phone to see if you've text. Or emailed. Or sent a picture or **anything**. I skip over everything else and go straight to you.” And the words resonate suddenly, makes sense. “Which is probably what I should have done right at the beginning.” But Chloe still looks confused and Beca isn't sure what she should be saying to make things more clear.

 

“Beca, I don't-”

 

“I know.” She sighs. “I know. I'm not good with words, okay? There's a reason I do what I do and don't want to become like a songwriter or something.” Chloe smiles a little stronger at that, but it's still tainted with confusion. “Of **course** now that I’m here I don't know how to say it.” She says, exasperated. It's all right there, she can feel it, but her nerves are smothering her and she can't fidget and think at the same time. But it isn't about the reaction, it's getting the words right that has her worried. “I had everything down in the car and now-” Chloe cuts her off with a laugh that is filled with a kind of bewildered amusement that only Chloe can pull off.

 

“Beca, just say it!” And it just comes tumbling out.

 

“I think I’m in love with you.” There's a moment of complete silence that Beca is sure lasts an hour. Ticks on into days as she watches the smile slip from Chloe's face and disappear into an unreadable expression. And because Beca behaves like a verbally destructive steamroller when she's nervous, she keeps going. “I mean, I know I am.” She self-corrects, a heavy sigh disturbing the air. “Pretty sure I have been for a while. I wasn't going to tell you,” she pauses to gnaw at her lower lip, “but this whole touring thing just kind of made it impossible not to, and Ricky won't leave it alone for a second. He's like a dog with a bone.” Her gaze had been flickering about the room but now it returns to Chloe, and Beca offers her an apologetic smile. “Add to that, that I feel like I’ve been lying to you and I just couldn't do it anymore.” Chloe stares at her, expression still very much neutral, and after an incredibly pregnant pause Beca makes a gesture with her hand to signal that she was done in case the redhead hadn't caught that. But Chloe just continues to stare. She stares long enough for Beca to feel a little self-conscious, and when Beca feels self-conscious she starts getting snippy. “Can you **please** just say something? Anything? Just so I know that you heard me because I really don't think I can say that again-” Chloe is suddenly on her feet, prematurely ending Beca's sentence and ripping away her train of thought. 

 

She moves around the coffee table and Beca twists her fingers together anxiously as she watches Chloe's approach with wide eyes. She stops in front of the – now successful – DJ and Beca can't recall the last time she felt this nervous. Or scared. 

 

“What...” Chloe tries, but her voice breaks halfway through the word and she has to stop before trying again. “Why? Why now?”

 

“Ricky he, when we were in Nevada...” she takes a breath, “there was this amazing lake.” And Chloe stands as still as death as she listens, unmoving. “You could see right to the bottom it was so clear and just so, so blue. And I just stood in front of it and stared for what felt like an hour. Long enough that Ricky, he finally came over to ask me if I was okay.” And even though she's already looking at Chloe, something shifts and now she's **really** looking at her. “You know what I told him?” Chloe shakes her head, a near imperceptible motion, and Beca's confession leaves her in a whispered rush. “I told him that the lake reminded me of you. That it was the same colour as your eyes.” And then she's said it and it's out there and she can't take it back. And so she does something she had sworn never to do, once upon a time.

 

She takes the advice of Aubrey Posen. Advice offered to her during her first year at Barden, advice that had been largely ignored.

 

_“When you do something you can't undo, you have to own it.”_ And sure, the blonde might have been referring to yacking on stage in front of hundreds of onlookers, but Beca was pretty sure it applied here just as well. So, she owns it, and wrinkles her nose in distaste.

 

“Can you believe I said that?” She asks, with a measure of amused disbelief she's surprised she's capable of at the current moment. “It's so... cheesy rom-com.” And she can tell Chloe is stunned. Taken aback. The gleam in her eyes has become a little distant and all she can manage is a quiet,

 

“Jesse would be proud.” That doesn't really say anything at all.

 

But Beca can't help but wonder what Chloe thinks she's supposed to say after a confession like that. Wonders how many options and reactions are running through the redhead's mind. She wonders if  **she's** supposed to say anything else. Do something. Apologise maybe. She feels her heart rate spike as panic starts to rise again because the inevitable 'oh god  **what** had she been thinking' hits her, and then--

 

Chloe's face blurs as it swims closer and Beca is staring at her lips, and then they're gone. Only they aren't. She just can't see them anymore.

 

But she can feel them. Against her own. All warm pressure and hazy feeling, and Beca's frozen in a way that's different to all those times she'd been rendered immobile before. It isn't like stage fright or fear, and it isn't really like shock either. Then she can see Chloe again, as well as her lips, and she looks... different, somehow. Beca can't put her finger on it, but she does wonder if it had been just that one option, one reaction, flickering through Chloe's mind like glitter before she acted. Impulsive, like always.

 

“Was that-” And the instant the redhead speaks, the ice that freezes Beca breaks and blows away from her body like invisible shards of glass. Freeing her. Chloe's “okay” disappears alongside the question mark that would have followed it as Beca surges forward and angles her head up.

 

Sometimes, she can do impulsive too.

 

Though apparently only when kissing is involved.

 

She presses her lips to Chloe's in a way she's sure conveys desperation and frustration, rather than longing and freedom and the “ **finally** ” that she wants it to. Chloe stumbles back a little as their bodies meet and Beca feels one of the other woman's arms reach up to curl around her neck. Their noses brush as Beca pulls back just the tiniest bit, enough to attempt to gather herself – she fails – and then she's tugged back in by Chloe's omnipresent and undeniable gravitation field. 

 

This time, Beca's ready. Not prepared, but more aware. Her lips are lighter as they brush Chloe's, once, twice, before Chloe's fingers clutch at the neck of Beca's jacket and her lips part. She doesn't need any coaxing; her tongue sweeps in and brushes Chloe's like they've been doing this forever, even though the whimper that leaves the redhead and the way Beca's entire body seems to tense and melt at the same time gives them away. Her fingers find purchase at Chloe's hips, hugged by denim and curving under Beca's palms, and she tries to ground herself. Tries and fails as the kiss lifts her up, up and away. Chloe's arm has shifted from behind her neck and now her hands cradle Beca's face, turning the kiss soft but somehow more intense.

 

When Chloe eventually pulls back, dragging in a ragged breath and resting her forehead against the shorter woman's, Beca opens her eyes to find that her world is hazy. Hazy and blurred and brilliant and new. A thousand things she could say flicker through her mind before they vanish like specks of dust, no readily evident proof that they were ever there at all, and when she tries to say something in spite of that, her mouth just opens and closes. Thankfully, Chloe is there to save the moment.

 

“I have been waiting for you to do that,” she says, a little breathless, and she tilts her head to the side and angles her neck in a way that makes it look like she's trying to work out a kink. “Since 'No Diggity'.” And she smiles around the confession like it's one of the fondest memories she has and Beca feels laughter bubbling up alongside disbelief as Chloe's hands drop to her shoulders.

 

“Chloe!” She admonishes and sparkling blue eyes open to smile at her own. “Why didn't you say something?” It's thrilling and disappointing at the same time. Knowing that Chloe has been waiting for her, has felt the same this entire time. Has been Beca's constant in yet another, unknown way. And she realises her question could be considered slightly hypocritical. After all, she'd been silent on the subject too, but in her defence she was apparently far more dense than Chloe and it had taken her much longer to work out. The redhead shrugged.

 

“Figured you'd get there eventually.” And she grins again, playful and pretty. “Didn't think you'd take the long way around though.”

 

And Chloe's right, like always. Beca couldn't possibly have taken a more indirect route to this final destination. But that's kind of been the theme of her life so far. Barden, L.A.; there had been reroutes throughout, unexpected, sometimes unwanted, often wonderful. But they'd all been leading her here.

 

And she doesn't think of this as a final destination at all. Because Chloe's smile is like a lifeline and her kiss feels like a promise.

 

And really, it's only the beginning.

 


End file.
